


That Monogamy Thing

by silverlining99



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-28
Updated: 2009-08-14
Packaged: 2017-10-28 19:39:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/311474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverlining99/pseuds/silverlining99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim thought he was doing it RIGHT.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For an st_xi_kink prompt: Jim and Bones decide to make a go of a relationship and Jim just ASSUMES that Bones expects monogamy even though he's never actually said it. I mean, it's BONES, right, so of COURSE he's old-fashioned and needs a one-woman man. So, Jim's practically killing himself to adjust to this new "expectation"... runs away from Gaila in the corridor, refuses the advances of alien princesses on away missions, when Sulu and Chekov invite him for a little threesome action he mumbles an excuse and refuses... whatever! And then lo and behold he gets back from a two-week away mission early and discovers Bones and someone else (Chapel? Gaila? Scotty? OFC/OMC?) drunkenly going at it in Bones's quarters. And Jim's all !!!! over it and like "HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?" and Bones is like "Whaaaa?" because they didn't agree to monogamy and he CERTAINLY didn't think JIM FUCKIN' KIRK of all people would want it!

On stardate 2259.86, two fairly important things happen to James Tiberius Kirk.

The first, important really only in that it gets him to the second: he slits his own throat.

That's how Bones terms it, anyway. Jim, while generally down for being the subject of a little good hyperbole -- his favorite being along the lines of _fucking Jim Kirk has ruined me for ~~other men~~ anyone else *forever*_ \-- would prefer, in this instance and for the record, to have it noted that:

  

  1. it was an _accident_ ;
  

  2. everyone cuts himself shaving now and then;
  

  3. it really _wasn't_ that deep, no matter how pale Bones went when he took the towel away; and
  

  4. \---
  



  
Actually, (4) is not really on the record, or going anywhere near it, or getting admitted to anyone, ever, but if it were then it would be:

  

  1.  _okay_ , so maybe shaving with an old-fashioned razor at the same time one of the Betazoid passengers on board sucked him off wasn't the _best_ idea ever, but seriously, he was running late and trying to multitask and she hadn't warned him at _all_ before sticking a finger up his ass.
  



  
So his hand had slipped. Not his fault, and _hardly_ a reason to question his sanity.

Bones doesn't seem to agree, based on a few of his vehement comments before he hits Jim with a hypospray -- in the arm; Jim's not sure he likes _this_ being the way to avoid taking it to the neck -- and Jim obligingly passes out.

He wakes up with a shiny new neck, a pink seam of flesh that pulls oddly if he cranes his head too far. "Cut it out, then," Bones snaps when Jim mentions it, and finally stops fussing with all the readouts above the biobed. "Or get over it. It's new, Jim, you have to give these things time."

"But that would require patience, of which you so frequently claim I possess exactly none," Jim says, and cranes some more. He pokes himself experimentally in the neck. "That's it? Good as new?"

"Yes, Jim, congratulations. You managed not to kill yourself." Bones glares at him. "Do me a favor and try not to break an arm patting yourself on the back. I do have other things to do with my day than dealing with your shit."

Jim can't do much else but stare as Bones stalks away. Nurse Chapel clucks her tongue a little. "Mind if I say something, Captain?"

"Wha -" Jim glances up at her, then looks back after Bones. "No, yeah, go ahead."

She sighs. "Never mind. Keep yourself in one piece for awhile, he'll be okay."

Jim considers that once Chapel assures him he's fine to leave and sends him to his quarters with a stern warning that he's not to return to duty that day. He's not really sure what to think about it; as injuries go this one seems, to him, to be pretty minor. Hell, they let him go the same day, and Bones hadn't even gotten this cranky the time - okay, or the second time, or the third time, either - Jim had returned to the ship beat all to hell and back with internal injuries.

The last time, in fact, Bones had simply frowned in his normal way and said, _next time I'm just gonna take the damn kidney out and let you survive with one, bonehead_.

It bugs him, more than he might have thought it would, the idea that Bones might actually be mad at him.

The second -- and, really, only, in the grand scheme of things -- important thing that happens to Jim that day occurs sort of like so:

He (for once) obeys his medical orders and stays in his quarters for the afternoon. He lies on his bed and thinks about Bones, and himself, and stupid mistakes and justifiable ones, and by the time his door chimes a half hour after the scheduled shift change, Jim is no closer to having the slightest clue what the hell was up with Bones earlier, but he feels marginally closer to grasping an inkling of why _he's_ so unsettled.

The inkling is, a little, unsettling in and of itself.

When Bones storms in, he plants his feet and crosses his arms and says, irritably in a way that's more familiar but still on the side of being oddly _harder_ than normal, "You do realize I pay attention to the time, right? Every shift you're scheduled for, every time you run off to play cowboy down planet-side for some fool reason or another, I'm waiting through every goddamn minute of it to see if I'll have to put you back together."

Jim stands up. "Bones -"

Bones scowls at him, throws up an impatient hand. "Shut up, Jim, I'm nowhere near done yet. It's you doing your job. I accept that. I knew that going in. But if you're going to run around doing your half-assed best to get yourself killed in your _off_ time - - jesus fucking Christ, are you _trying_ to cause me a nervous breakdown? What the _fuck_ were you --"

Screw being unsettled, Jim thinks. He walks two steps forward and grabs Bones's face between both his palms and kisses him hard. "Sorry," he offers, leaning back.

Bones stares at him. Jim almost wants to laugh, that his expression hasn't really noticeably changed but has still managed to shift from irate to confused, from furious to wary. "Sorry for what?"

"Doing my best to get myself killed at a time inconvenient to your carefully planned schedule?" Jim tips his head and stares right back and summons up his best, his cockiest smirk. "Hey, at least I did it half-assed. That's gotta count for --"

He could go on. He generally _does_ , as he's found that eight times out of ten in his life, the best way to get out of trouble is just to talk until the person wanting to kill him can't really remember wanting it for anything worse than mere annoyance, which is easy enough to laugh off.

Sort of hard to work that little magic trick with Bones's tongue in his mouth, though. No matter, Jim thinks, this is even better.

"What the hell," Bones mutters, and kisses him again, and again, like he can't help himself. Jim likes that, likes being needed back after everything that's been roiling in his head for half the day. "What the hell are you doing, kid?"

"We," Jim corrects. He touches Bones's neck, and the side of his ribcage, pushes his body in close. He mouths across Bones's jaw to his ear and tugs the lobe between his teeth. "We're getting to the point, Bones, what do you think?"

"I don't know what the -- _fuck_ , Jim," he hisses, as Jim lowers one hand to palm his growing erection. "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

Jim takes a moment to suck wetly at his neck, where stubble fades to smoother skin. "Sure you do," he mumbles. He squeezes and Bones rocks against his hand. "Or do you get this bitchy about everyone's stupid injuries?"

"Nobody else takes the cake quite like you do, thank God," Bones grumbles. He gets a handful of Jim's hair and drags Jim's mouth back to his. "You sure you want to do this?"

"I'm sure," Jim says, and pulls away to drag his shirt over his head. He grins at Bones. "I'm really, really sure. Would you like that dated and signed, under oath, or -"

"Cocky son of a -- no. Don't you dare say it, Jim."

Jim leers. "Cocky. Heh."

Bones's mouth twists in a wry smile before he pulls his own shirt off and begins unbuttoning his pants. "You're such an immature brat."

"Shut up, you know you love me."

Reaching out, Bones hooks an arm around Jim's neck and draws him in. His chest is warm against Jim's, his mouth warmer. "Yeah, yeah," he agrees in a low tone that sends a fast tremor through Jim's muscles. "I suppose you'll do."

Jim finds, as Bones slowly explores his mouth and works, one-handed, at opening Jim's pants and shoving them down his hips, that he suddenly can't figure out why he didn't do this sooner. Like, the day they met, for instance. He slips an arm around Bones's back and runs his other hand up and down Bones's arm, feels the play of muscle under his hand as Bones gets a fist around his dick and works it, and it all feels right, feels good, feels like yeah, this has been the point all along, so why did they waste four years?

Or, okay: not a waste. More like what half his teachers in high school had said to him: _Jim, you're failing to live up to your full potential. It's_ so _disappointing._

Back then he'd rolled his eyes and escaped as soon as humanly possible, every time. Now, he gets it. He really, really gets it. And he's going to fix it, he's going to do this to the _max_.

Jim grunts as Bones flicks his thumb right under the head of his cock, and kisses him harder, and doesn't have much trouble at all in deciding that it's not like he could do it any other way.

It's Bones, after all.

Bones walks him slowly backwards, mouth sloppy and wet, hand stroking steadily. By the time they reach the bed Jim's pants have slipped low and every step is a jostling shuffle, until his calves hit the bed and Bones pushes him down. "We're doing this," Bones says again, in a sort of dazed way, like he needs to reassure himself.

Jim leans over to struggle with his boots, to work on getting naked as fast as possible. He twists his neck to look up at Bones and there's the pull, the strange tug of sensation, reminding him that nobody's ever had his back quite like Bones has. "Yeah," he says, and grins in triumph as he yanks one boot free and tosses it across the room. "We're totally doing this."

Bones holds his gaze for a moment, eyes narrowed, then nods decisively. He's smarter about things, just bends over and takes off first one boot then the other, before shoving his pants down and off. Jim fights harder against his remaining boot; it would probably be easier if he worked on it _before_ trying to kick his other leg free of fabric, but -- whatever. He's eager. Hardly his fault.

He's not the only one. "Leave it," Bones orders, and crowds in, crawls over Jim as Jim abandons his efforts and scrambles back on the bed, gets centered. Bones straddles his legs. He holds himself up on one arm and lines up their cocks, and Jim lets his eyes fall shut and his mouth fall open as Bones wraps his hand around them both, as much as he can, and strokes slowly. "Oh wow," Jim breathes, and he pulls on Bones's hips to make him ease lower. "Wow, wow, _yeah_ , wow, god. Bones. I fucking love you, man."

Bones laughs and releases, shifting instead to shove one leg between Jim's and catch his knee up, wrap Jim's leg around his back as he presses down. He kisses Jim brutally, his tongue thick and strong and demanding, and he rubs Jim's thigh slowly, knee to ass. He squeezes and grinds his hips down. "Jim," he gasps. His mouth slips across Jim's chin, his jaw, then licks a sideways stripe along Jim's throat, along the thin line that's still sensitive in its newness. He groans and presses his lips wide against the phantom injury, sucks hard.

Jim shudders and grins. "Bones. Are you getting off on my near-death experience?"

The tightening of Bones's hand on his ass and the push of his hips say, to Jim, _oh, yes, absolutely yes, the fragility of your life gets me hot_.

Bones's muffled voice says something more along the lines of, "blow me, drama queen, you were never gonna die."

Jim files away the first couple words and, flipping Bones over and crawling down between his sprawled thighs, discards the rest. He gets a grip and angles his head and drags the flat of his tongue along the underside of Bones's cock, base to tip, then sucks the head into his mouth and hums happily. Bones jerks and shudders under his touch and he reaches to stroke up Bones's stomach, fondles the first nipple his fingers seek out. "Jesus, Jim," Bones gasps, and touches his head, pushes down. Jim takes him as deep as he can, bobs a little. "Fuck. _Fuck_."

Jim wriggles, settles himself, humps the mattress lazily. "Don't come," he mumbles, pulling back and pressing a line of suckling kisses down the length. He nuzzles and licks at Bones's balls, then traces the tip of his tongue back up along a visible vein. "Your dick is awesome, man, I had no _idea_. You've gotta fuck me, Bones, seriously, I gotta have it in me, I --"

Bones groans and grabs a handful of hair and feeds himself back into Jim's mouth, hips lifting urgently. "Mother _fucker_ ," he growls, and Jim squirms and gets his knees back under him, squeezes himself hard to try to stave off the sudden lurch towards orgasm he feels gathering. He wraps his other fist low around Bones's cock and pumps in time with the rapid rise and fall of his mouth, the careful, intentionally vicious curl of his tongue on each upstroke. "Later," Bones grunts. "I'll fuck you later, Jim, just. Goddamn. Your fucking _mouth_ \-- I can't, I've got to -- "

Jim jerks himself, swift and relentless, as he puts every ounce of cocksucking skill he's ever picked up into sucking Bones towards the release Bones so desperately wants. He's not sure he could take it right now, anyway, not sure he could deal with more when just this, just his own hand and the knowledge that he's finally taking Leonard _fucking_ McCoy to pieces in a _good_ way, is about to make him --

Strike that. _Has_ made him come, a fucking _relief_ right into his palm. He takes Bones deep, against the back of his throat, and grunts through it. He flexes his hand to spread the mess and rubs a slick fingertip against Bones's ass, circling before pressing slowly in.

Bones lets loose the worst string of curses Jim has ever heard from him as he clenches around Jim's finger and comes without any other warning. It's impressive, actually, Jim thinks with no small measure of delight. He eases back and swallows, and sucks contentedly at the head of Bones's cock until he's got the last weak spurts and Bones has gone still and relaxed, breathing hard. Jim draws off with a last, affectionate kiss to the slick tip. "You have a filthy mouth," he announces cheerfully, crawling back up along Bones's body.

Bones grabs him and pulls him down and rolls them onto their sides, licks his way lazily into Jim's mouth. "So do you," he growls lightly, and kisses Jim some more. He finally pulls away and falls onto his back, flings one arm over his eyes. "'m going to sleep."

Jim wraps an arm over his chest and tucks his chin against Bones's shoulder. "And then you'll fuck me?"

" _Yes_ , Jim," Bones mutters, and yawns. "Then I'll fuck you like you won't believe. Now be quiet. It's been a damned exhausting day, thanks to you."

Jim just grins and presses a quick kiss to the skin of Bones's shoulder. Exhausting for Bones maybe, he thinks. All in all, it's been pretty damn great for him.


	2. Chapter 2

As it turns out there are a number of things to get used to, when it comes to getting together with Bones.

One being: getting fucked on a regular basis.

It's been awhile, to be honest. He had -- not _forgotten_ , and not exactly _missed_ , just not _thought_ much about men, about the feel of a cock pushing in, pushing _him_. It wasn't intentional; he's just been into women, into soft curves and sweet smells and smooth skin. He's been in a bit of a phase.

But none of that really matters anymore, not considering. Nice as it is to explore every dip and rise of a woman's body, and feel a more delicate frame wrapped around him, and coax out light sighs or high squeals or gutteral moans, it's so entirely different that there's really no comparing. Apples and oranges.

Bones is hard angles and planes, gruff orders, rough commands. He likes Jim best on his back -- "are you kidding me?" he'd said when Jim asked. "It's been a long time since I've been fool enough to think I should take my eyes off you for a second, not if I can help it." -- so he can kneel and give it to Jim fast, steady, but can still so easily drop down and catch Jim's mouth and fuck him in rolling, rutting twists of his hips, short but deep, as he takes long kisses and other liberties with his tongue.

Jim is fairly sure that he will never get tired of it, just like that. But then there's also bent double over the back of his sofa, or pushed tight to the cool, wet surface of the shower wall. Or, on one occasion he would _love_ to repeat, flat on his stomach on the floor of Bones's office, deep into the delta shift after a long meeting about the disaster relief mission they'd been abruptly ordered to undertake, hand cupped desperately over his cock to protect it from the floor.

It is, all told, nothing short of really, really great.

Another thing is, realizing how much he has left to realize about Bones. Four years of friendship and he'd thought he'd figured out just about everything, thought he had Bones totally pinned down in his head. But, well. You think you know a guy, Jim finds himself thinking with startling frequency these days. It's enough to throw him off just to find that Bones is down for this, that Bones is this into running with their new thing, that Bones is all over him in the _greatest_ of ways, and then just when he's getting used to that, he gets:

"You ready to quit being such a demanding brat and fuck me, for once?" one night, out of the blue, just before Bones sucks one of Jim's nipples between his teeth and tugs on it as he grinds their cocks together.

Jim thinks about fucking Bones -- _Bones_ , formerly married Bones, who's always been sort of tight-lipped and private about his sex life and has never mentioned it involving guys (and it's one thing, Jim knows, to fuck a guy but another thing entirely to _be_ fucked), who has never opened up a conversation with "so, Jim, by the way, I enjoy taking it up the ass, how 'bout you?" or, whatever -- and he promptly comes right between their stomachs with a startled, choked gasp.

Bones snorts against his chest and lifts a little, wraps his hand around Jim to stroke it out, firm but slow. "So that's a no, I guess."

"nrgh," Jim says weakly. "'s'not fair. You surprised me. I call foul."

"Yeah, like it's my fault you're on a hair trigger." Bones kneels over him and kisses away the hazy fatigue clouding Jim's brain, and jerks off until he comes all over Jim's belly, and later when Jim has recovered enough he goes slow, takes his time and makes it good, makes sure to stretch Bones open slowly and carefully and fuck him without hurry, a tangle of arms and legs and this messy new slush of fondness and delight and desire.

And then there's the other thing. Which is that despite it all, this whole monogamy thing? Harder than it looks.

 _Way_ harder.

Jim catches onto this one pretty damn fast. Stardate 2259.87, in fact. He wakes up and Bones is still in his bed, slung out and snoring lightly, and Jim can't really help crawling on top of him and kissing him awake, can't keep a stupid smile off his face when Bones blinks at him and frowns and says, all gravel and hoarseness, "damn it, Jim, it's too early," but spreads his legs and wraps his arms around Jim and kisses him, morning breath and all.

On his way to the bridge, later, he runs right into Altana Brin, the Betazoid woman he's been -- well. Doing a lot of things with, up until the blood started flowing. She smiles at him and he winces, feels sort of sad about it. "Captain," she says politely, but with a gleam in her eye. "I thought we might dine together this evening, if you've recovered from your... mishap?"

He likes her, is the problem. He likes her a _lot_ , has for the entire two weeks she's been aboard. She's beautiful and she makes him laugh and he trusts her to be respectful of his thoughts instead of digging in just because she can, and touching her, sleeping with her, has been really, really great also, besides.

Any other day, he'd suggest lunch instead and move his schedule around _pronto_.

Today, though -- it's not that he doesn't _want_ to do precisely that. It's just, there's Bones to consider now. Jim says, regretfully, "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I can't," and Altana gazes at him shrewdly. "I see," she says, and he wonders for the first time since they met whether she's reading him. But all she adds is, "good day, Captain. I'm glad to see you're well again."

Jim manages, for awhile, to convince himself that it's all good, that Altana was a loose end to be tied up and smooth sailing from there on, smooth sailing with Bones and Bones alone.

But then there's...things.

Things like Lieutenant Crafter, who transfers up for a two-week rotation at a bridge science station while they're navigating through an uncharted system thick with plasma storms, his specialty. He _looks_ at Jim in this way that ... well. If they were on Earth, in a bar -- and if Jim were _available_ for such a thing, of course -- a look like that might have them twenty minutes from falling into a bed or five minutes from going at it in the alley, if things went particularly well.

Jim spends those two weeks carefully contemplating the viewscreen during his shifts and goading Bones into fucking him like a freight train as quickly as possible after going off-duty.

He sort of can't _not_ notice, after, just how many interested glances get shot his way, from all over the ship. He has quick, bizarre moments of paranoia, of wondering if half his crew is actually loyal only because they're hoping their reward might be hidden away in his pants.

It's not as flattering as he might have thought, once. More like _absolutely nerve-wracking_. He goes to Bones and tries to forget. And if his social life, what he's managed to carve out within the limitations of being the captain, suffers some -- well. He _likes_ spending most of his time with Bones. He likes it. It's worth it, he reminds himself.

The weird thing: it _is_. There's something way cooler than he could ever have imagined there would be about this, about the familiar patterns and rhythms of it all, about being able to rely on things being real, and serious, about tying his healthy thirst for good, frequent sex into the steadfastness that has been his friendship with Bones from the beginning.

It's like, he's always lain around and shot the shit with Bones, letting Bones gripe about all the idiocy he manages to encounter on a daily basis and heaving back his own volley of light comments, anything serious peppered carefully in to keep from killing a good mood.

So why _not_ do it naked and blissed out and only with him, right?

Right. But still, not easy.

Especially not when the head handmaiden to the queen on Loridia shows up in his room late at night at the end of a grueling trading mission, and drops her robes, and says, "My lady sends me to convey her gratitude for your generous spirit," and she has lush hips and a soft belly and firm, round breasts, and Jim --

Jim really, really loves the whole making nice with new civilizations part of his mandate, he does. He just, right that second, seriously wishes he were able to love it even _more_.  "Uh," he says. Cool and suave, that's him. "Um...?"

"Malita, sir."

"Malita. Uh." He stoops and snatches up her fallen robes, fumbles to get the material back around her shoulders, draped around her beautiful body -- her luscious, _beautiful_ body -- before the sight drives him out of his mind. "Malita, I'd be incredibly grateful if you would express my...uh. My gratitude. To your lady. But _her_ gratitude is, um. Not necessary. Really. The Federation is grateful -- shit - sorry! God. The Federation is glad for the opportunity to get to know your people."

The woman tilts her head and frowns. "But you do not wish to get to know me? I am the finest and best of Her Majesty's maidens."

"I'm sure you are!" His voice comes out thready and high. "I'm sure you're just -- wonderful." And god help him, he's about ten seconds from saying to hell with it and finding out just _how_ wonderful she is, and it's wrong in so many ways -- in her being _not Bones_ , in her being a walking, talking _thank you card_ \-- but he almost doesn't care. Almost. "Only not for me."

She smiles slowly, a spark of some strange understanding flaring in her gaze. She steps closer and her hands come out. "Let me assist you. My skills are many and highly sought."

Oh _God_ , Jim thinks. Oh God, oh God, oh God. Wrong. _Wrong_. It helps, reminding himself that this doesn't even _need_ to have anything to do with keeping Bones's trust. "No," he says firmly. "Thank you, again, but no."

Back on the Enterprise it's the middle of beta shift when he's released from medical after the standard screening, and Bones is working off-shifts this week. Jim goes to his quarters and climbs into bed beside him, stares up at the ceiling for a long time before slinging his arm around the warm body beside him and falling asleep, comfortable, at ease.

It gets better, slowly. Jim's never really thought of himself as the kind of guy even _capable_ of having blinders; he sees what he sees and wants what he wants, and if there's one thing he's always had some problems with, it's reining in some of the bad ideas that are particularly self-destructive.

But either the opportunities are drying up or he's figured out a way to be blissfully, willfully blind to them, because it does. It gets better. Easier.

And then they go to Precor III for some quick and dirty emergency disaster relief. It's a crunchy granola kind of a place, an outpost of disillusioned sorts who decided a couple of generations back to set up shop on an empty M-class moon and be down with nature instead of down with the Federation.

Jim can respect that. He doesn't even roll his eyes - much - at how quickly they call for help when their weather net fails in the middle of tornado high season. He sets some scientists to work on the weather net and a whole bunch of other people to work on monitoring the hotspots and directing targeted evacuations in the meantime, and afterwards he goes down with whoever feels like volunteering to help the hippies rebuild some barns and stuff.

To say thanks, the Precorians throw them a bonfire. Jim can _really_ respect that; he thinks it great, in a relaxing sort of way, to just kick back and chill out under the stars, tired and dirty and flush with the knowledge that he may have splinters just waiting to be found, but nobody died and he's discovered that Precor III, sort of a joke in certain circles, sort of a legend in others, is actually a damn cool place.

With some damn cool people. He gets tied up for hours, talking to a whole group of them that slowly thins down to just one, to just the sister of the current village... spokesman, or whatever term it was they used to try to convey their total lack of hierarchy. Lilla is beautiful, all white-gold hair and long limbs, and fire in her eyes, a twist to her smile that makes him feel like she's laughing at the universe inside, like she's found some secret to being happy no matter what.

They sit on a log next to the bonfire and she uses a long stick to draw patterns in the dirt, no real purpose to it, as she answers his questions about her culture, about her. After a while she turns to straddle the log, and motions for him to do the same, and she shows him a simple game of responsive hand movements that have to follow an intricate foundation of rules.

He's terrible at it and she laughs at him. "It's easier for me," she admits. "I know the rules like I know how to breathe; we teach all children this game."

"How come?"

"Because it shows them that once you know perfectly well what you _must_ do in life, there is still the question of what you _might_ do. To figure that out, you must either refuse to play and be solitary, or you must always be attentive to your partner. Every game ends differently, depending on what both players choose to do." She tosses her hair over her shoulder and, in response to a flick of his hand, slides her fingers over his knuckles and wraps them around his wrist. "See? The rules allowed me to touch or not touch, and I made my decision. Now what will you do?"

He watches her, half her face shadowed, half of it lit warmly by the flickering light of the fire. Her fingertips circle slowly against the skin of his inner wrist and tell him that they are definitely not playing the kid-friendly version of this game. He ducks his head for a second and then glances across the fire pit, sees Bones sitting with Lilla's brother and Uhura. He's talking to them but his eyes are on Jim; through the wafting smoke Jim could almost swear he's smiling.

Jim is suddenly so fucking turned on it _hurts_. He's not, however, entirely sure who it is getting him cranked up.

He looks back at Lilla. He twists his arm within her grasp and maneuvers to get their hands together, to squeeze hers gently. She smiles at him, makes it obvious that she wants him with her clear-eyed earnestness. She has plump lips he has trouble taking his eyes off of; he bows his head and rids himself of the temptation. "Lilla," he says quietly.

He lets go of her hand. "It's about time I got going."

Bones looks at him, a strange speculation in his eyes, when Jim strolls up to collect him, and Uhura. On the ship he follows Jim right into Jim's quarters and grabs him before the door has finished sliding shut, yanks his shirt off before kissing him hard. "This is what you want, huh?" he says roughly, and backs Jim towards the bedroom.

 _Yeah_ , Jim thinks, and falls hard. Bones's weight follows him down onto the bed, heavy, pinning. Yeah, this is what he wants.


	3. Chapter 3

On stardate 2259.132, James Tiberius Kirk learns, for the first time in his adult life, what it's like to have his heart stomped into pieces.

He really -- really and truly, as sure about this as he has ever been of a single damn thing in his life -- does _not_ like it.

It goes like this: so apparently, he figures out at last, he pretty much just loves Bones a lot.

It hits him quickly, that little morsel of understanding. It's nothing astonishing, not a slap in the face or an anvil falling. It's more like the mental equivalent of a hard gust of wind on a dry, still day, washing over him as he wanders into medical and sees Bones sitting on a stool, his head bowed, laughing quietly at something Chapel is saying as they calibrate tricorders.

Jim looks at him and doesn't want to kiss him, doesn't want to drag him off to bed as quickly as possible.

He just sort of wants to sit next to him and never move. Which is... not how he thought it would be, not really. Jim doesn't have a lot of experience with the love thing; he used to hear plenty, mostly from his grandmother, about how devoted his parents were to each other, and he's seen his fair share of people acting gaga over each other, professing overwhelming passion and an abundance of touchy-feeliness that's always made him a little uncomfortable, deep down. He's wondered, a few times in unsteady moments, if it would ever happen to him, if he's even capable.

Apparently he is, in his own way.

"Bones!" he greets cheerfully, and Bones looks at him and raises an expectant eyebrow and smiles, half-fond, half-wary. "Get a load of this," Jim continues, and feels so damn content it's pretty much the most ridiculous thing ever, "I have actually shown up for my innoculations without you needing to yell at me three times. It's like I'm growing as a person in front of your very eyes."

Bones rolls his eyes. Chapel turns away with a poorly concealed smile. "Right, uh-huh. Tell the truth, Jim - you read up on Gr'varian intestinal parasites and got scared, didn't you?"

Jim considers denying it. He tips his head and squints at Bones. "Yup," he admits at last. "Still. I think taking the initiative in preventing my insides from getting swiss-cheesed by worms shows personal growth. I feel immensely larger at the moment."

"You're a giant amongst us mere mortals," Bones says dryly. "Come on, get over here. Chapel, mind getting those 'sprays? They should be --."

"I know both where they should be and where they actually are, Doctor McCoy," she says easily. "I got it. Excited about your trip, Captain?"

He should be, he thinks. Two weeks on Risa for a mandatory leadership skills thing set up for portions of the fleet too far out to make it worth a trip all the way back to Earth -- or one week, actually; he tried to get approval to take the entire ship for some impromptu shore leave, and instead he has to leave them doing science and whatever, and spend four days in shuttles plus a day each way stopping over on a space port renowned for frequent outbreaks of about five different disgusting, debilitating and ultimately deadly diseases.

And a week on Risa. A few months ago he'd have been itching to get there already, totally jazzed up, raring to go. A few _minutes_ ago he was dreading it.

Now he'd just like to get there, get it done, and get back. "Sure am," he tells Chapel. "I mean, Risa, come on. It's paradise."

Bones snorts and takes the hypospray Chapel brings him and jabs it against Jim's neck. It doesn't really hurt. "Okay, Jim, you're good to go. I would be deeply grateful if you could just _try_ not to wind up as a breeding ground for anything as yet undiscovered while you're away. Call it a personal favor."

"In that case," Jim says, and grins and winks, "I will do my absolute best. Only for you, Bones, only for you. Gotta pack -- later, 'gators."

That night he fucks Bones slowly, for a long time, and afterwards lies limp, slumped across Bones's back, and Bones says, "gonna miss you" in a rough, sleepy voice.

Jim kisses behind his ear and rolls them onto their sides and yawns. "Me, too," he mumbles. "Back before you know it, Bones, don't worry 'bout a thing."

Risa really is a paradise, like on the eighth day God woke up from a nap and thought "nah, I can do better," cracked his knuckles, and went to town. Jim feels bad, really, getting to spend a week lying around and occasionally going to seminars that devolve into the most ridiculous antics -- Starfleet captains, he discovers with relief and a sense of belonging, can be a wacky and wild bunch -- while calling it work.

He does not, however, feel much in the way of temptation. He enjoys the sun and the fun and when he leaves, a day early because he manages to snag a seat on a departing shuttle heading the right way, he's well-rested and ready to go home, to his ship, to his family, to Bones.

Stepping off the shuttle into the main bay feels good; he hasn't left the _Enterprise_ for this long since taking command, and it's good to be back. Scotty meets him and walks with him to medical, chatting amiably about the absolute nothing it sounds like happened in Jim's absence. Jim stops at a comm terminal on the way. "Kirk to bridge. Hellooooooooo?"

"Captain," Spock responds, right away. "Welcome back. I presume your travels were safe?"

"Not a scratch on me, imagine that! Hey, listen. I'm gonna get my checkup and then some sleep, but put me on the roster for alpha and beta starting tomorrow, through the rest of the week. You're taking a few days off."

"That is not necessary, I assure you."

"Whatever, do it anyway. Tell the kids hi for me. Kirk out." Jim looks at Scotty. "How many personnel write-ups am I gonna have to review? Be honest, I know you know everything."

"That I do, sir, and not a one. We behaved perfectly, if I do say so myself."

"I knew I loved you guys for a reason," Jim says happily. "Helping me avoid paperwork is as good a one as any, right?"

Scotty grins. "I'll drink to that, sir."

"Have one for me, too."

Bones is not on duty in medical. Jim fidgets all through M'Benga's exam and hops off the biobed as soon as he's cleared.

He goes straight to Bones's quarters, whistling all the way, and lets himself in with the access code he's never _not_ known by heart. He's eager, anxious to see Bones again.

What he sees instead is: Christine Chapel like he's never even been perverse enough to imagine.

She's stretched across Bones's bed with her head flung back over the side, throat stretched and gleaming with sweat. She has one leg hooked around the back of Bones's knee and he's got the other in the air, clutched to his chest, suspending her hips at an angle as he gives it to her, fast and hard and deep, flesh slapping loudly.

Jim stares. He can't _help_ but stare. Chapel twists and writhes, her stomach heaving as the focal point of every muscular reaction. She cups her own breasts, kneads them, and then her eyes open and fix slowly, blearily, upside-down on Jim.

A moan aborts into a small shriek and she nearly kicks Bones in the face as she twists herself away from him and curls around herself, jackrabbit fast. "What the _fuck_ ," Bones bites out. Jim can hear the slur of alcohol in his voice. "Damn it, Chris, what -"

"Sorry," Jim says tightly. Bones jerks his head around and blinks at him. "I think she was a little surprised to see me."

"Jim. You're back early." Bones frowns and pushes sweaty locks of hair off his forehead. "Don't you know how to knock? Jesus."

"Sorry," Jim says again. He hates the feeling that's settling in and making itself at home; it's one he hasn't had in a long time, not since he figured out what to do -- which would be: cram it down, don't think about it, _move on, damn it_ \-- with the fact that his brother had just up and left, and never returned. "Won't happen again."

He walks out.

He doesn't really think he'll ever be going back.


	4. Chapter 4

When Jim leaves Bones's quarters, he doesn't do a number of things. Curse, fight, pout, _cry_. Those sort of things.

What he does do is walk slowly, calmly to his quarters. He sits in a chair, bows his head, and presses his fingertips, hard, against his temples. He works on breathing normally.

This is, he thinks, not how this was supposed to go.

The thing is, Jim has been very and deliberately upfront about the nature of his relationships since the first and only time a girl he'd recently been sleeping with had run into him getting very cozy with a very different girl. The perils of small town living, and all. Sometime around when she grabbed his drink and flung it into his face, he noticed that he was embarrassed, his _date_ was embarrassed, and this girl, this girl he'd liked in the first place because she was smart and had a sharp tongue and a wicked smile that stuck with him for hours -- she was falling apart in front of him and it was pretty much everything _not_ fun he could possibly imagine.

His solution was to set about developing dozens of ways to telegraph the message _Jim Kirk Live, One Night (Or Maybe Two or Three or Whatever) Only_. No promises, no guarantees other than a good time and a happy parting for everyone involved. It’s worked out pretty well.

What he hadn't done was given much thought, specifically, to how that girl might have really _felt_. He was seventeen and, if he's being honest with himself, kind of a giant dick. He’d thought, _this sure sucks_ and _okay, so let’s avoid_ that _ever happening again_ , but he hadn’t spared a lot of time on deep contemplation of how she had probably expected things of him, and he’d failed her, and she’d been _hurt_.

He feels like a total asshole at last, about nine years too late.

He also never exactly considered the slightest possibility of _being_ the flip side of this particular coin. Part of him, a presumptuous and admittedly egotistical part, feels like surely things should have just fallen into place, like the logical remainder after removing his tried-and-true disclaimers should have been a default setting of: this is serious. Who wouldn't want to commit to him, once he was willing to commit back?

He waits, for a long time, for Bones to show up, for the apologies to start. The explanations, the excuses. The promises that it will never happen again. He thinks, and tries to believe: we all screw up sometimes. Even Bones. He tries to gear himself up for a dazzling display of magnanimous generosity and understanding.

Bones never comes.

Sometime in the middle of the night, as he lies in his bed, alone, and stares at the ceiling, Jim thinks he might need to have a talk with Spock about his shortcomings in the area of logical reasoning.

Apparently he's not doing it right.

He doesn't sleep. In the morning he drags himself to the bridge and pastes on a cheery smile, and it's a relief to absorb himself in catching up, first with all the gossip he can wring out of the crew (an easy enough feat; Sulu loves to tell stories and Chekov has just about the loosest tongue this side of Neptune) and later, during the lull after the shift change, with the heap of daily logs and department reports that have been waiting for his review.

Bones doesn't appear on the bridge, at his shoulder, lingering, not a single time. Jim thinks okay, that's good. He is, in the back of his mind, veering wildly from sad-and-confused to sad-and-just-plain-sad to pretty-damn-angry, and back around in circles again. He'd like to settle on one emotion and figure it out and make sure he really knows what he's feeling before he deals with this.

He'd like to get to the point where he doesn't see Bones fucking Chapel every time he closes his eyes, before he actually sees Bones in person.

Ironically, it's like the universe suddenly adores him. It cooperates by hurling one crisis after another his way, over the next few days. Bones is, Jim is fully aware, tied up with getting through the annual physicals that have come due for a third of the crew, and Jim himself gets to do a tap dance of impromptu diplomacy in a tiny little encounter with some pissed off Romulans. Then he works on coaxing Scotty into doing some "impossible" - and Jim isn't buying _that_ claim for a second, he's totally got Scotty's self-aggrandizing number and admires the hell out of it - repairs to the warp drive. Then he does a lot of paperwork.

He keeps busy. He works the shifts he asked for in order to give Spock a break and sticks around for gamma as well, and he goes to his quarters and sleeps and then gears up and repeats the process.

When they finally make it to their next destination, a planet they're supposed to scout for possible colonization, he goes down with the first away team and winds up getting bashed in the head by a sentient monkey with an arsenal of stones. He wakes up in medical with a dull headache and a leftover thought that's been waiting to happen, a sense of _Bones'll never let me hear the end of this one_.

Bones is, in fact, there by his side, and helps him sit up. "Take it slow, Jim," he says with mild concern. "So the good news is you've finally proven your head is not actually full of rocks. The bad news is that the real rock fractured your skull. You may have headaches for a couple of days."

"Ow," Jim says plaintively. Bones's hand feels warm and comforting on his shoulder. "Bones, I don't think I like monkeys anymore."

"Fair enough, but they'll probably miss you at the family reunions." Bones touches careful fingers to his cheek and Jim turns his head obligingly, accepts the hypospray to his neck willingly. The fog starts lifting from his mind almost immediately and he remembers he's mad -- today, at least -- at Bones, remembers that between Bones and the monkey he'll take another round with the damn monkey any day.

He bites back the jovial response that sits on the tip of his tongue. He clenches his jaw and waits silently through Bones's efficient scans of his head, the brief testing of his motor functions. "Okay," Bones finally says. "Looks like your head is just hard enough after all. I'll clear you for light duty tomorrow, regular the day after. It's gamma shift now, anyway; you should go rest."

"Fine," Jim says steadily. He keeps his gaze fixed on a point over Bones's shoulder, and wishes that the place he's been trying to get and has apparently arrived at wasn't such a mess of anger. He hates being angry like this. It's a total buzz kill and it's hard to hide; it's an easy enough trick to hide gloominess with a cheerful smile, but fury has its own way of shining through.

Bones set his tricorder down. "I need a word with you before you go. In my office?"

Which, Jim figures, is just absolutely perfect. Four fucking days, and Bones decides he wants to do this only after Jim's head has been _literally_ bashed in, as well. "Fine," he says again, and follows Bones into his office.

He's surprised, to say the least, when Bones lets the door shut and then grabs him roughly, palms on either side of his vaguely aching head, and kisses him hard. "Jesus, Jim," he says as Jim freezes in shock. "A goddamn _ape_?"

He doesn't let Jim answer -- not that Jim even has a response to that, to any of this -- just kisses him again, and again, taking advantage of Jim's surprise to press his tongue firmly against Jim's.

And it's -- his mouth is familiar, warm and strong, his tongue sweeping confidently, the movement of his lips easy and assured. His afternoon stubble rasps against Jim's own. Jim finds himself grabbing handfuls of the front of Bones's uniform, finds himself responding. Maybe, he thinks unsteadily, unconvincingly, maybe they don't need to talk about this. Maybe it's just one of those things to forgive and forget because the alternative is -- is worse.

"God, it's been too damn busy lately. I had this dream about your fucking mouth, your lips," Bones mutters, and sucks Jim's lower lip between his, bites down on it briefly. "About them wrapped around my cock, fuck, Jim, I haven't been able to stop thinking about it --"

Jim goes still again and, abruptly, shoves Bones away. "I don't think so," he says flatly, and ignores the confusion on Bones's face as he pushes past him and heads out. "Excuse me, Doctor McCoy."

On his way out, he catches sight of Chapel scribbling notes from an ensign's biobed readouts. He pauses and stares at her and, like she can sense his gaze, she looks up. Her eyes widen slightly and her cheeks go pink. She's a strikingly pretty woman, even in the flush of embarrassment.

There's a tiny, tiny part of Jim that can't blame Bones for taking anything she might have offered.

He makes it to his quarters but is there for less than a minute before the computer chirps, "Medical override authorization code accepted," and the door slides open, and Bones stalks in. "Okay, what the hell was that?"

"I'm pretty sure _that_ was a total abuse of your override code. I should fucking report you to the ethics board."

Shock flashes in Bones's eyes, then irritation. "Go right ahead," he snaps. "I'll happily explain to anyone wanting to know that a patient with a recent head injury exhibited troubling signs of acting like a goddamn lunatic." He crosses his arms and sighs. "Seriously, Jim. You give me 'excuse me, Doctor McCoy' when I've barely fucking seen you in weeks and you expect me to leave it at that? What's wrong?"

What's -- Jim stares at him. "Is that supposed to be funny?"

"Yes, Jim, this is my idea of absolute hilarity. Surely you know me well enough to see I'm rolling with mirth at the moment."

It stings, the reminder that he _doesn't_ know Bones, doesn't know if he ever actually did. From the moment Jim met him Bones has been wearing his heart on his sleeve, putting himself out there with brutal, no-holds-barred honesty -- or so Jim had thought. But he's always seen Bones as rough edges and an abrasive surface over something kinder, more vulnerable.

He's never suspected any real core of insensitivity or downright meanness, until now. "Whatever," Jim mutters. "I don't know shit. Go away."

"Not a chance. Damn it, talk to me, would you?"

Jim grits his teeth and glares. "You're _dismissed_ , Doctor. Get out. That's an order."

Bones narrows his eyes. "Withdraw it or I'll one-twenty-one your ass."

"On what grounds?"

"On the grounds that I need to see what can be done about removing your head from it!" Bones shouts, a fast flash of genuinely losing his temper. He pauses and takes in a deep, deliberate breath. "I mean it, Jim, you're worrying me here. Stop dicking around."

Jim laughs; he can't help it. "That's -- that's rich," he gasps, and doubles over for a second. He can hear a faint edge of exhausted hysteria in the sound of his own voice. "That's just _awesome_. Fuck you."

"Five seconds before I call Spock and tell him he's got command."

Okay. Calm. Jim straightens up, straightens his shoulders. "Relax. There's nothing wrong with me."

"Try again."

"You're a son-of-a-bitch and I want you out of my face?" Jim offers. It's getting easier, being able to lob out fast, small chunks of everything eating away at him.

"What the hell did I do?"

Maybe he got hit harder than he thought, Jim wonders. Maybe he's still out cold in medical. Or, fuck, maybe he _did_ contract Gr'varian parasites and is hallucinating this entire damn thing as he gets devoured from the inside out.

It's a nice thought, one that would be great to believe. Too bad his headache is gone and his stomach feels just fine. "You tell me," he replies. "Or hey, I know! We could ask Chapel. I bet she'd have a real good idea."

Bones goes slack-jawed, surprise writ across his face. "That's what you're -- Jim. Look, I'm sorry about that." Jim stares at him, tries to let the sincere -- if somewhat placid, like, would it kill Bones to display an inkling of how big a deal this is? -- apology sink in, but then Bones continues: "It's not like I meant for you to walk in on us, you know."

"I --" Jim is fairly sure he just heard Bones ask for a gold star or some shit for having tried to keep it _secret_ , what he was doing, for having done his damndest to do it without getting caught. Like that makes him a fucking _saint_ or something. Jim wants, suddenly and badly, to hit him. More than once. "How long?"

"How long _what_?"

"How long have you been fucking her?" Jim demands tightly. He feels fatigue around his eyes, a pinching heat radiating outwards. His hands flex at his sides.

"That's none of your business," Bones snaps. "Why are you being such a drama queen about this?"

"How. Long?" Jim insists.

"For Christ's sake." Bones throws his hands up. "Awhile. Eight months or so, I guess." Bones blows out an aggravated sigh. Jim feels kind of sick and hopes it's an after-effect of the head injury. That can probably be fixed, at least. "I don't know."

"Do you love her?"

"Okay, that's _really_ none of your goddamn business," Bones snaps, his exasperation morphing into anger again. "Where do you even get off, quizzing me about my --"

"Answer the fucking question."

"No. It's a stupid-ass shit thing to ask, Jim. Since when do you even get within ten feet of jealousy, you hypocrite?"

"I'm not a hypocrite." Jim is offended. He wishes he _were_ a hypocrite, wishes he'd fucked Altana and Crafter and Lilla and half the fucking population of Risa. He wishes he didn't feel like such an idiot and he burns with it. He's always hated being made to feel like a fool; he'd rather pick and choose when to play that part, for his own purposes. "So...what? Quickies in your office, is that how it's been? You're good at those, I know you are. What does she like, for you to put her over your desk and tell her she's been a bad nurse? Does she let you fuck her in the ass, or is that just me?"

"Say another goddamn word about her, I dare you," Bones snarls, reddening in the face.

"You want me to stick to you? Sure, no problem. I'm curious, actually -- is this what happened before?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Your _wife_. Did you cheat on her?"

Bones's expression goes colder than Jim has ever seen, in an instant. "I'm this close to forgetting you're fresh off a head trauma and pounding your goddamn face in."

Jim finds himself disappointed, finds himself wishing Bones _would_ hit him. Things have always made more sense to him when he can channel them into physical sensation, into actual pain that blossoms and hurts and -- eventually -- heals. He narrows his eyes into his best icy challenge, the one he's perfected as a way of telling Romulans and Klingons alike, _yeah, fire on me. See what happens, bitches_. He opens his arms in invitation. "Go ahead. It was a nice run but I think we're past pretending you give a shit either way about screwing me over."

"Fuck you, Jim. Where do you fucking get off being so damn self-righteous --"

"Me? You're the one acting like you didn't do anything --"

"That you yourself haven't done?"

"That's totally fucking unfair, Bones, you don't get to use that against me."

Bones looks at him with disgust. "You are a piece of _work_ , Jim. I'll damn well use the fucking truth against you. It's high time _someone_ called you on your golden boy, do no wrong bullshit for once. This may be news to you, but sometimes you have to follow the same goddamn rules as the rest of us."

Jim could really, definitely have done without Bones managing the exact same tone as his stepfather, around the third time he had to come get Jim released from county lockup. He clenches his jaw and turns away, wants this over _now_. "Sure," he says flatly, quietly. "You got it. I'll go back to sticking it wherever it fits, if that's what you want."

All he can hear, for long, long seconds, is the harsh sound of Bones breathing. "Jim," Bones finally says, warily. "Go back?"

Jim stares at the shelf built into his wall, at the slim volume of short stories Bones tossed him for his birthday, two years ago. _Here, kid,_ , he'd said, and cracked open a bottle of whiskey, _expand your horizons, it’ll be good for you._

He’s read that damn book more times than he can remember. “Yeah,” he says.

“Meaning ...you haven’t been.”

Jim gets it -- suddenly, in a flash -- what’s been happening, the different assumptions they've been operating under. It makes part of him feel about a million times better. It makes an entirely different part want to beam right back down to the planet and let the monkey take a few more shots.

He turns back to Bones, finally, settled on being more annoyed than anything else. "No, I haven’t." Bones stares at him, _hears_ him. "Not since you."

Bones hesitates. He licks his lips slowly. "Jim," he says slowly. "Come off it."

"God, I wish I could." Jim collapses on his sofa and folds his arms defensively over his chest.

"You...nobody but me, in all this time. You expect me to believe that?"

"Yes, I expect you to believe that. And I could have, you know that? I just spent a week on fucking _Risa_ , Bones. You could almost literally trip and _fall_ into sex there."

"So I've heard. Shit." Bones visibly deflates, right in front of Jim's eyes. "Christ on a fucking crutch, kid. What were you thinking?"

Jim flails one hand helplessly. "Uh, maybe that I was supposed to keep it in my freaking pants with anyone else?"

"What the hell for?"

Jim gapes at him. "Because -- that's what people do! That's what _you_ do." He frowns. "I thought so, at least."

"It's not what _you_ do," Bones volleys back. He sighs deeply and sinks onto the sofa next to Jim, a few feet away. "I never asked you to do that."

"I didn't think you should _have_ to," Jim complains. "Wait a second, why am I in trouble for trying to do the right thing here, huh? How is _that_ fair? Accidentally or not, you're the cheating bastard in this room."

"Screw you, I didn't mean to cheat. And you're not in trouble, numb nuts," Bones grumbles. "You're just -- damn it. Is that what you want? For us to be a...thing?"

Jim frowns in the general direction of his knees. He doesn't know precisely what to think of the Bones here with him, this weird, confusing version who has secrets Jim didn't know, who still isn’t who Jim thought he was even if he’s maybe not the callous shithead he’s been in Jim’s mind recently.

"I don't know. I thought we _were_ ," he mutters, and feels ridiculous. He feels like he's screwing everything up, like this is all his fault, after all. "It's just -- I thought you were, like, into me."

"Jesus. Don't be stupid, Jim, you know damn well I am." It comes off Bones's tongue easily, immediately, genuine even underneath a veneer of impatient irritation. Jim lifts his gaze, startled, and Bones frowns deeply, questioningly. "Jim. You _know_ that, right?"

Not really, Jim thinks. Not anymore. "Sure, fine," he says. "If you say so. But...so, you're into Chapel, too."

"Different kind of 'into'."

Jim snorts. "Geez, Bones, no need to be crass about it."

"Oh, can it. I just mean --she's a friend, okay? Sometimes we have a few drinks after a long day and sometimes we sleep together. I care about her a lot." Bones stares at him. "But it's not a big deal. She's - she's not you, Jim. You want it to stop, it stops. I just want us on the same page about this."

Jim chews that over. "Huh... So I am a big deal?"

"The biggest," Bones assures him, and it sounds like the truth even if he does roll his eyes. "Don't let it go to your head, though. You're also the biggest pain in my ass ever."

Strangely, it's the last bit that makes Jim feel the most relieved, the way Bones says it with the light sarcasm that has always doubled for Jim as the sincerest of invitations to keep right on pestering because it's welcome, it's appreciated, it's how they _are_. "Hey," he says with a helpless shrug, "I can't help being genetically blessed, Bones, you know I try to be gentle --"

"Goddamn it, I walked right into that."

Jim grins, probably the first real smile he's mustered in days. "You really did."

"So are we okay here?" Bones asks, with a raised eyebrow. "Or do I actually need to grovel?"

"Groveling never goes amiss, Bones. Never."

"I'm going to kill you one of these days, you know that?" Bones asks conversationally. Jim waggles his eyebrows at him, feeling lighter and lighter. "But I suppose you've earned it this time. How's this: I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hurt you, and I'm sorry I made you think you don't matter to me. Because you damn well do, Jim, more than anyone, and you'd better never forget that."

Jim shifts to sit sideways, cross-legged, closer to Bones. He sets a hand on Bones's knee, which Bones glances at before looking at him thoughtfully. Jim squints at him. "You're not sorry you had sex with her."

Bones eyes him carefully. "No, I'm not. Look, Jim, were you pissed because I did it at all, or were you pissed because you thought I meant to do it behind your back?"

"When you put it _that_ way." Jim scratches his head and frowns. "I was pissed because I thought you were a total lying sack of shit.”

“Ah.”

”So,” Jim says, dragging out the word as he puts things in order in his mind, chooses a direction to stick with, “you're saying I totally could have gone for it with Lilla? Damn it, Bones! She was so great!"

Bones starts laughing. "Yeah, she was. And pretty obvious about wanting you, too."

Jim moves swiftly, surging forward and grabbing Bones by the front of the shirt and stealing a quick, poorly aimed kiss. He does a rapid course correction and seals his lips over Bones's, kisses him firmly. Bones stops laughing, fast. "It's not funny," Jim gripes after a minute, settled back down. "You know the reputation Precorians have for the free love and all."

Bones looks at him with dark eyes. He sits forward and unfolds Jim's legs one at at time, stretches one out behind his back and pulls the other across his lap even as he twists to crowd Jim back and down with his body. Jim leans back readily, lets Bones settle heavily atop him. "If it helps," he says, and pauses to touch his mouth to Jim's, slick lips and teasing tongue, "it was pretty goddamn hot to think you could've had that and still chose me. You saying you didn't have a good time with me that night?"

"I _was_ choosing you. Doing the right thing is always a choice. But -- you were kind of drunk, you know." He hooks one of his legs around the back of Bones's knee and lifts his hips, grits his teeth at the building pressure. "I'll give you a ten for raw enthusiasm, but technique...solid five."

Bones scowls at him and thrusts down. "I'll show you technique, you little shit. I'm gonna fuck your goddamn brains out and you can rescore, how's that? That is, if you can still talk once I'm done with you."

Jim grins, slides his hand under Bones's shirt, feels the familiar expanse of muscle. "If sex were any way to shut me up, I think you'd've noticed by now."

"Hope springs eternal," Bones mutters sarcastically. He shuts up for awhile, they both do, absorbed in long, hungry kisses and the grinding press of their trapped cocks, together. "I am," he adds eventually, his words muffled against Jim's throat, "going to insist you get some sleep first. You look like death warmed over."

Jim groans and tries to get his hands between them, to get to Bones's zipper. "Funny thing, I sleep better after sex. Think of it as therapeutic."

"I don't think so." But Bones braces on his forearms and lifts up, allows Jim to open his pants and shove them out of the way and get his hand around Bones's cock, lets him pump it steadily. "God, Jim -- fuck."

"That's what I'm saying," Jim says with a smirk. "C'mon, Bones, fuck me unconscious, you know you want to."

" _No_." Bones bucks sharply into his touch and begins fumbling with Jim's pants. He sinks his hand in and works him roughly, expertly, twisting his hand exactly the right way. "Tell you what. I'll suck you off now if you promise to get a good eight hours."

"Six," Jim counters. "Six is totally plenty."

Bones narrows his eyes, then ducks his head to suck wetly below Jim's ear. "Agree to eight, Jim," he murmurs, and flicks his thumbnail across just the right spot, "and I swear to God, you'll wake up with my tongue in your ass."

Jim comes with a long groan and lurch of his hips. "I hate you," he gasps. "Oh my god, I hate you so very, very much."

"uh-huh." Bones slides his tongue along the shell of Jim's ear and shifts his hand to join with Jim's, to guide him. "That'd be a real damn shame if it were at all true."

"Jerk." Jim tightens his grip, moves faster. Bones breathes, harsh and hot, against his ear, grunts quietly. "You still owe me a blowjob."

"You -- _ah_ \-- you got it."

"And you always wind up back here."

Bones's hips jerk erratically. "You too," he mutters, and catches Jim's mouth, kisses him messily, spills over Jim's hand. "Ahh, god. Christ."

Jim winds his arms around Bones and tugs him down, mouths his jaw lazily. "Eh, call me Jim."

"Cheesy bastard." Bones presses his face to Jim's neck, kisses softly. "Jim. I missed you."

And Jim relaxes, and smiles, and closes his eyes. "I'm back now. Always will be."


End file.
